Oracular Perception Poem by gershon hepner

If only there were some slight chance
of our transforming into dance
our song––our song then into laughter,
and laughter into what comes after:
the union of our bodies and
our passion which, when we’re elated,
is sensuously consummated,
the mistress lying with her maître
imbuing song with raison d’être.
This happens, sadly, far too rarely.
Yes, any chance for it is fairly
improbable. Just one exception
exists, when ocular perception
is matched by what both minds perceive,
sophisticated or naïve,
within each others’ eyes. Eyes are
the seat of sex and, like beaux arts,
more valued by true connoisseurs
than amorous mere amateurs,
who generally ignore the eyes
since eyes don’t loudly advertise
appeals to lust, like legs and breasts,
which to most mortals sex suggests.
By giving them your close attention
and scanning them with Xray roentgen,
you’ll find they’re portals to the song
and laughter that lasts all night long,
and contretemps, like contrapuntal
dancing that is horizontal.

12/29/96,5/8/07